Drops of Jupiter
by Wongvhan
Summary: Dean survived a massacre but being locked up in prison, he was waiting for the end of his life. Castiel lived beyond time and space. With curiosity on human, Castiel would save Dean. This is an AU based of a short story from "Fushigi na shounen" which is an AU of the Count of Monte Cristo. Chapter 5 will mark the ending of the first part of the series. Blood & Gore come first.
1. Imprisoned

The sea was angry.

Dean had never seen the ocean outside his cell, but he could hear her roared everyday. The sea was the only companion he had. He slowly opened his eyes to the first sunlight. The cell was always dark and damp, but Dean was familiar with it enough to know where he should sleep so that he could wake up and enjoyed the warmth of the sun sneaking through the hole in the wall high above his reach.

It was stiff. Everywhere in his body was stiff. Dean could stretch, but he saw no point. Then he coughed violently and it hurt in his ribs.

It was one of the downside of not having a nose. The meat of Dean's nose was cut during one of the earliest torture long time ago. Since then, bugs and fleas sometimes crawled their way inside through his airway. If he was lucky, they would nest itself in his hair and beard, just like others. He knew he was dirty. Well, "dirty" was an understatement. Dean was filthy

Today was similar to the rest: Dean wanted to die.

He had no sense of time. He did not know how long it has been since he was first put in this jail. All he knew was that it was a crime being born as a Khai. Every Khai must die - children, women, or men. So, why not him?

The cell had nothing but two trays lying on a different corners. There wasn't a single piece of furniture in this prison that was so small it Dean could almost reach the other wall if he stretched.

The light shone on one of the tray. Dean spared a glance at it. His thought became a whirlpool. Today, he decided to do some action - by doing nothing. He would take his own life slowly. He would let the burn in his stomach devour himself. No one would care. Dean had never actually seen it, but he heard the sound of a body being dragged along the corridor far too many times. The guards would complain because less prisoner meant less allowance that they could corrupt, and less entertainment. Being so ugly and infected by insects had its perk, the guard would leave him alone if not the time for whipping. Other prisoners met a different fate, they became human toys in every possible way.

With half his face pressed to the floor, Dean heard footsteps from afar and they were getting closer. He looked at the tray again. Should he, or should he not? Maybe not. And Dean slumped back to oblivion.

But it didn't work that way. When the footstep stopped in front of Dean's cell, there was a clunk sound of metal hitting the door three times. As usual. Then a big spoon yanked in through the flipped plank on the door, and pour a cold soup with things that looked like potato. Only today, Dean didn't catch it with the tray. So, the liquid just splashed onto the floor. Dean didn't care.

Wrong move.

The footstep backed away from the door for the few step, then it stopped. Dean should have known he would be in trouble if he showed any sign of indiscipline. The guard outside whistled, and more footstep came.

Dean was alert but weak when they unlocked the door and stomped in.

"Well, well, well. Look what you did here." One of the guard sneered as he looked at the mess under own feet. Under the insufficient light of the cell, the man looked like a skeleton, but Dean knew he was worse. The man was the chief of the guards, second to only the warden who never got his hands dirty. It was Alastair that always left the prisoners to die from the wounds he inflicted on them. Dean crawled back to a far corner, and Alastair was happy because he sensed fear in the air.

"Did your mama never tell you that food is treasure?" Alastair grinned as he walked toward Dean slowly. "Oh, I forgot. You don't have a mama." The other guard chuckled.

"What do we do to a bastard child?" Alastair asked.

"We feed 'em." Another one weighed in, and Alastair seemed to like the idea. He snapped his fingers. And two guards grabbed Dean and dragged him to the middle if the cell. Dean tried to struggle, but all he could do was giving a wimping sound inside his throat. "Pl..please!" Dean finally breathed out.

"Today is my birthday, so you can have a feast." He signaled for the fourth guard to bring a bucket in.

Alastair grabbed Dean's jaw so hard and forced Dean to open his mouth when they pour the soup down on him. The hands held him tighter and Dean was drowning and choking. His limbs, from fighting and struggling, felt strengthless when Dean was suffocating. The only real luck was that the soup was never hot, so Dean didn't suffer the burn.

Alastair hit Dean with the bucket, and he gestured for the two guards to let go of him. Dean curled up in a ball, and curled even tighter when Alastair kicked him in the guts. The liquid came back to Dean's throat and he couldn't do anything other than throwing up. "You should consider yourself very lucky, princess." He spat on Dean's face before walking out the cell, leaving Dean in a puddle of the muddy soup and his own puke.

Dean did not know how long it has passed when he came to consciousness. He was lying in the pool of waste and he wished he was dead. He wished Alastair would kill him. But before he died, he wished he could kill Alastair. He wished his mother and father still lived. He wished to run free in the world. He wished to see his brother.

"Sam."

And the tears he did not know he had been holding back just poured out. He clenched his fist and hammered it on the floor. Dean looked at his own hand. It was bony, bloody, and scaly from the dried wound. He was frightened by his own hand. What had happened to him? Dean remembered his mom, his dad, and his brother. He knew his own face once, but the hand right in front of him must belong to someone's else. Some monster's.

Will he die as a monster? Dean asked himself. Will he eventually fade away from this world without seeing a glimpse of it? Will he 'live' his life in the cell only go outside when the guards decided it is time to torture him again? Will they allow him to die?

_No_.

A grave voice answered. It was so short and simple Dean thought he was hallucinating, but the voice kept on.

_They will not allow you to die._

Dean sat up, certain that the voice existed.

_Would you like to live, Dean?_

"W..what… What are you?" Dean called out.

_What I am is irrelevant._ _"What are you" is the correct question._

"Then what am I?"

_Precisely. Would you like to find out?_

Dean scrambled on the floor to find the source of the voice, yet he found none.

_I will show you life._

It was a trap, Dean suspected. But the temptation was hard to resist. "How can I trust you?" He drew back until his back was pressed to the wall.

_Faith, Dean._

"Faith?" If there was a God, then Dean must be dead and this place must be hell.

_I will not ask twice. What is your answer?_

With no hesitation, Dean said "Yes." He could say a thousand yes and give himself over again and again for a chance to see outside.

_Very well then._

It started with one brick on the other side of the cell. It looked a an invisible hand was pulling the brick quietly before dropping it to the ground. Then another brick. Then another and another. Light shone through the hole that was getting bigger and bigger for every brick pulled away. Dean watched the act with mesmerize. When the gap was big enough for Dean to fit in, everything stopped, and Dean heard a fluttering sound of wings. The light still shone, and one hand held out.

"Come, Dean"

It was the owner of the voice, now materialized himself in a mysterious hole in Dean's cell, and Dean could not help asking the question as he stepped closer

"Who are you?"

The creature was a man. A man white ruffled dark brown hair and pale skin. His blue eyes were piercing, yet Dean could not find a strength to escape them.

"I'm the one who will grip you tight and raise you from perdition."

Dean took the hand, and his life changed forever.


	2. Sleeper

Dean was born and raised in the most beautiful place on earth, for earth itself was his home.

Khai people lived as a caravan. They traveled from places to places. They enjoyed living with nature because they believed themselves part of the nature they grew up in. Their God's teaching was simple - love, share, and put down hatred. The codes of conduct would make the world a better place, not only for nomads like the Khais, but also for people around them.

Despite their peaceful living, the Khais were fierce warriors and excellent hunters. Men led the hunt, and protected the family. Women led the society, and shaped new generations. Both were equal. Both were strong.

This was the main reason why the King of Matra feared them. Free-spirited combined with knowledge could not be controlled by power. Neither could they be lured by wealth. As far as the Khai concerned, they were rich. They had everything they need.

At 6 years old, people told Dean that he looked like an angel though a very naughty one. Dean had blond curly hair, a pair of bright green eyes, long eyelashes, and kisses by an angel sprayed over his face.

Not a day passed Dean would not jump into a lake with other older boys, or ran along the hills for a short game of chase. He always lost, of course. Dean was the youngest boy since the two-year-old Sam who could barely talk did not count. The Henriksen brothers looked at Dean like their own little brother. Gordon and Viktor would ask Mary for a permission to let Dean play with them in the morning. They taught Dean how to spot edible fruits or mushrooms.

There was one time Dean fell and sprained his ankle so, Gordon and Viktor took turn giving Dean a piggyback ride on the way home.

To his eyes back then, everyone was the same. Dean had never asked his mom or his dad about the color of the Henriksens' skin. It was not something the Khais would discuss. They held no discrimination. All people were welcome to their family because they were created by God who had no exception nor preference.

Dean was proud of his family. His father, John, was the chief of the caravan. John had vast knowledge on hunting, weapons, and geography. Mary, Dean's mother and the most beautiful person he had ever seen, was an excellent apothecarist even though John always teased that she was the better hunter than him. Sometimes in an evening, Dean and Sam would play jackstones together (Although most of Dean's energy would be used in preventing Sam from eating the pebbles) while John and Mary slow-danced to the crooning of the Gurney, a rare species of bird that symbolizes freedom and faith. Their parents were very much in love, and Dean's heart swelled twice the size.

Come to think of it, it was a sweet dream. A dream that Dean was forced to wake up from.

The sky was red that day, and three boys were playing at their usual spot in the forest, far from the caravan. Viktor said that the sky was red because there was bloodshed somewhere. But Gordon smacked his brother's head, and explained that a rainstorm was coming, and that they should head back.

_Row, row, row you boat_  
_Gently down the stream_  
_If you see a crocodile _  
_Don't forget to scream WAHH!_

Dean remembered they were singing old 's song on their way when Gordon suddenly stopped and told them to be quiet.

It was a sound Dean never heard before. He never heard a woman's screaming with despair like that. Her voice was cut off immediately like someone pulled a string off. They were too many sounds of metals crashing together - those - Dean knew, were swords. A wind blew, and Dean could smell burning flesh in the air. The smoke from the location where the caravan should be rose high to the sky.

"Viktor, take Dean and go hide somewhere. I'll go find dad." Gordon said urgently, but Victor stood still.

"No" The younger brother clutched Dean's hand tight, but he refused to go. "Gordon, I…"

"I said GO!" The brother commanded again, and Viktor knew his brother enough to oblige. He started running back to the opposite direction, taking Dean with him. Dean glanced back, Gordon was gone.

"Gordon? GORDOONNNN" Dean cried out. He did not grasp the full concept of what was happening but he knew the caravan was in danger. He shook Viktor's hand off and ran toward the caravan, but Victor threw himself on Dean. Dean struggled, but Viktor was much bigger that he could nail Dean to the ground easily.

"Dean. Nothing you could do there. Come!" If Viktor noticed that Dean was crying, he did not say anything. Viktor led Dean faster into the forest to the are in which they were not familiar anymore.

"Viktor?" Dean held the boy's hand tight. Viktor looked around, and gave Dean a smile that Dean knew was fake. "Come here. You'll be safe here."

It looked like a very large rabbit hole under a willow tree. But if no one really looked, they would not know if there was a hole a size of a small boy there. Viktor led Dean into it, but himself was too big.

"No matter what happens. No matter what you hear. Stay quiet. I'll come back for you."

"Viktor"

"No, Dean. Stay quiet. Understand?" Viktor instructed for the last time. Dean nodded.

As soon as the boy turned his back to Dean, an arrow shot right through his neck, and Dean, despite being hidden, could see it clearly.

Viktor fell to the ground and twitched as he was struggling for air.

"He's still alive!" A voice with strange accent called out, and Dean heard the sound for hooves coming closer. Maybe there were a few horses and their horsemen outside. Dean clapped his mouth. Trying to not make any sound even though it was hard to breathe properly when tears streaming down his face and his nose was running.

By the footstep, one man got off the horse. "Let me put you out of misery." He said.

Dean did not know what the man had done, because he could not see, but the stream off blood shot high and splashed into the hole where he was hiding. Dean wanted to scream. He was shaking terribly. His knees weak under his own weight. He had no choice but to remain silent as other men outside were complimenting on the shot that hit right on his friend's vein. They were shouting and laughing loudly although the nearest man was complaining about the blood strain on his armor.

"This one is a Sie, isn't he?" One man asked. The other snorted. "Are you blind? He is _white_ as fuck. Of course, he's a bloody Sie, and you know what to do."

A few seconds passed without anyone saying a word. Then Dean saw a tip of a sword raising up, and it slashed down hard enough for him to hear the sound it made through the air. Another splash of blood.

Viktor's head rolled into the hole, and Dean screamed at the top of his lung.

He pressed himself against the wall, as far from the head as possible, but Viktor was right there at Dean's feet, eyes wide staring into nothing. A strong hand scooped down to take Viktor's head.

All the boy could see was a pair of very dark eyes and crooked teeth grinning at him. "We've got a toddler!" It announced, and Dean fainted. Blackness and shadow covered his sight.

When Dean woke up again, he was hoisted and tied up on a back of a horse. His consciousness was not back completely, and a 6-year-old strength was nothing compared to the rope that tied him up. As the horse galloped slowly, Dean recognize the surrounding. It was the trail not far from the caravan, but he heard no scream or fighting anymore. There were only silence and the sound of fire cracking.

The horseman knew that Dean was awake, or maybe he didn't care. He pulled Dean's hair, forcing the boys to see what's ahead of them.

They are stakes. A line of dozen of steaks or more. Each one had a sharp tip pointing to the sky. And Each one was decorated with something neither circular nor square.

As they approached the line closer, Dean finally realized. They were a human's head. And one of them was John's.

Dean stopped breathing. Then he started to breathe long and hard. His breath became faster it turned into panting. Dean felt like someone was squeezing his heart and he wanted to cry and to scream but no sound came out.

A man in a hood standing among the soldiers seemed to notice, and signaled for Dean's rider to stop as himself put Dean on the ground softly.

"Breathe, kid. Breathe."

Even at 6, Dean knew this man was on the enemy's side, but he could not help feeling better under the warmth of the hand on Dean's chest. A minute or two has passed, and Dean's breath became slower, almost normal again. The man still stayed with Dean.

Suddenly, Dean thought of his mother. _Where's mom? Where's Sammy?_ He must escape and find them.

It was a ridiculous thought of a child who barely passed a toddler age. And Dean's hope was crushed when he heard a cry of a small boy.

There was no mistake. It was Sammy.

Dean tried to look up to see his brother. Just a glimpse would be enough. Just a glimpse and Dean would run to comfort Sam like he always did. But the hand held him down. The man in hood hushed. "Don't you worry about anyone but yourself." He hissed.

"What's that" another strange accent called out. But this voice was colder than the rest. It spoke with authority and froze Dean to the spine.

Dean's eyes followed the voice to a man on a horse. He was holding a white rose up his nose.

"We found a child inside that cart, my lord. The mother was shot to death." One soldier reported.

The man with a rose said something to the soldier who bowed and walked away. Then he addressed the man in the hood sternly.

"Chuck"

Dean's helper answered to the call. "Yes, my lord" He, too, bowed.

"Kill that child." He jerked his chin toward Dean.

Chuck answered with a shaken voice. "It will be done, my lord"

"Good."

Then the man shook his horse's rein. The horse galloped away, along with the dozen more than trailing behind. Chuck hurriedly came back to Dean.

"I'm sorry. This is the best I can do." The man was crying, but Dean did not know why.

He tied Dean's mouth with a piece of cloth and covered Dean's head with a sack then tied it again to make sure it would not slip away.

Dean was lifted and thrown into some kind of a vehicle he did not know what. All he knew was that he kept moving, and the journey was never-ending.

Mary was dead. John was dead. Sammy was dead. Viktor and Gordon, too.

It was the first time a six-year-old Dean wished to die. It was also the first time he cried himself to sleep. When they finally took the sack off Dean's head, it was the first day he spent in a cold, damp cell of Chateau D'If prison. And Dean had never seen the sun since.


	3. Terms & Condition

To Dean's surprise, the hand was warm. He was used to his the cold of his own skin he forgot how warm flesh and blood could be.

The owner of the hand looked younger than how he sounded. Though Dean had no clue about his age, he figured that he was not a full grown man yet. In fact, my dear readers, our boy was just 17. But since he never had a chance to shave his beard, Dean looked like middle aged man despite a young man buried inside.

The mysterious boy was, by his appearance, the same age as Dean though their contrast could not be more profound.

Both boys were pale. Dean - by the lack of sunlight. The other boy looked like he chose to be pale because it would compliment his eyes. Dean had not seen a sky for more than ten years, but the memory of the vast openness decorating with white cottons rushed back as soon as he met this pair of sapphire eyes. The boy was almost as tall as Dean, but Dean knew this boy was much bigger than him in some way. His dark hair pointed in several directions. The boy wore some kind of garment Dean did not recognize. His shirt was black, the sleeves covered to the boy's wrists, and its collar was high under the his chin. The pants were blue. They clung to the boy's long and slim legs, and their material was unknown.

What baffled Dean was not his clothes. It was how the boy was too beautiful to be a human. He was more like a porcelain doll Dean saw once in Mama Ellen's tent. If it weren't for the blue eyes, Dean would not have believed that the boys was real.

"Come in."

He urged Dean closer. Dean poked his head into the hole at first, and his jaw dropped open. It must be at least four times the size of his own cell. With the same kind of brick, but this one had no hole for the outside.

The hole - the room - was brightly lit. One corner of the room located a wooden desk with a stack of papers, a bottle of ink, a quill, and an oillamp on that desk. The chair, though unremarkable, completed the set. Bookshelves as high as the ceiling covered three sides of the wall except the one with the hole. There were big books, old books, and those illustrated by colors Dean did not have a name for. A skyscrapper of boxes lying in front of one shef too. In the middle to the room was a circle table with a golden miniature globe standing. Dean inhaled the scent of papers. He could taste cinnamon on his tongue.

"Wowww."

It was official. Dean was in awe.

"Do you like it, Dean?" The boy asked, the sparks in his eye did not disappear.

"I…I.." It's been too long since he felt this way. This was magic. There's no other way describing it.

"We need to add your vocabularies." The boy ignored Dean to one of the bookshelf.

Dean's eyes followed his movement. "Who are you?"

The boy selected one of the book and flipped through it. "Can you read, Dean?" He threw the book to Dean.

Dean looked at the book in his hand. The golden encrypts on the cover were beautiful, but they were meaningless to him. He shook his head. "No." Dean answered quietly as he ran his fingers on the spine.

"Then give me back the book." The boy demanded.

Dean reluctantly gave the book back to the boy who just out it back on the shelf. His heart dug itself instantly. _Would this boy leave him because he could not read? Would Dean wake up in his cell because this was just a nightmare?_

"Six, then" the boy said to Dean even though he was not looking.

"Six?"

The boys took a thin colorful book and handed it to Dean. His expression was deadly serious. "Six languages, you will master."

"Six?"

"We really need to expand your vocabularies, Dean." The boy sighed. "Then you will need to learn about combats, about strategy, lands, politics, religions, psychology, philoso.."

"WAIT!" The world was spinning. The boy did not make sense. None of this made sense. Everything turned green, and then black again.

* * * *

Dean woke up to the same pair of blue eyes. The boy frowned. "You fainted." He helped Dean sit against the wall before offered him a glass of water. It tasted like life.

After Dean drank all of it til the very last drop, he felt like the boy, kneeling by Dean's side, would answer his questions.

"What is this?"

The boy answered as-a-matter-of-fact-like "Your study room. This is where you will study things you need to."

"For what?" Dean breathed.

The boy tilted his head. "Don't you want to get out, Dean?"

Dean snorted. "Can't you just get me out? Digging another hole? You are the most useless witch ever."

The boy returned him with a grimace. "I have never said I was a witch." He stood up, and took a few step back away from Dean. "If I let you go then, what will you do?" He asked.

_What will I do? I would run free. I would bath in the river. I would walk on the green hill. I would breathe with pure air for once._ All of this, Dean did not say out loud. But the boy softened a little.

"You go out there now. You will die. You do not know how to survive in the woods. You don't know how to fight, less how to work. You know nobody, and the King had ordered for your kind to be extinguished from the land. My purpose…"

"What purpose?" Dean asked.

"For the mission, Dean."

"Mission?"

"Do you want to leave this prison?"

The air suddenly got colder, but Dean stood up, facing the boy directly. "Yes."

"Your time will come."

_My time will come._ "Does this mean I will get out of here?"

"You will have a chance. But without me, you will fail, and you will die here sooner than you thought."

"I… " Although his mind was simple, the nature of the Khai running in his blood was boiling with anxiety and excitement. Dean was already dead in this prison. Nothing could kill him twice. Dean made up his mind. "What do I have to do?"

And the mysterious boy smiled. "

You live." He said. "I will give you the greatest weapon in the world. Knowledge. You will learn everything you need. You will study. There is only one condition."

Before Dean could say anything, the boy cut him off.

"I will not ask for anything in return. But when I leave, you must not ask me to stay. Can you do that for me, Dean?"

"Yes."

Dean answered with no hesitation. The boy sighed. Somehow, he looked... sadder.

"But I don't understand." Dean shook his head. The condition was too simple. "I must… live? What do I have to do?"

The boy surprised Dean again with a warm expression on his face. He looked less a doll, but more like an angel Dean dreamed of when he was a child. He stepped closer and cupped Dean's cheeks with his hands.

"You will be you. You will do what you want. Be what you want. You will write your own destiny, Dean."

Then he pressed his lips on Dean's forehead.

"Sleep now." He lured. "When you wake up tomorrow, you will find your strength. And our lesson shall start."

Dean felt his eyelids were very heavy. As he slowly slumped onto the floor, he clutched the boy's wrist.

"Wait." Dean tries to summon a word. "What… what do I call you?"

"Castiel, Dean. You may call me Castiel." The boy answered, and his voice had an anesthetic effect.

Dean saw nothing. For the third time in a very short period, he fell into oblivion again.

"Weird name."

He managed to say it, but inside, it is the name Dean would hold on to for the rest of his life.


	4. An Education

Dean almost forgot everything in the next morning. But the curling sensation in his stomach was enough to make him forget about starving himself to death. There was a heavy knock on the door so Dean hurriedly prepare his tray for today's meal. It was an almost-clear soup and some kind of starch. They were better than nothing, and Dean devoured them within seconds.

Dean hadn't even a time to think that the night before was a dream because once he finished the meal, one brick on the wall was pushed off, and Dean heard a voice. Castiel's voice.

"Whenever you are ready, Dean."

Oh, Dean was ready to tear down to whole damn wall. Castiel gave Dean a new life, and he doesn't even have to go out of this cell yet. Since then, the habit of taking down bricks by bricks and studying til evening has been Dean's life in the cell.

* * *

Castiel's lesson, as it turned out, was both unusual and usual. First thing first, Dean needed to learned the main language and its alphabet. He needed to learn how to read and to write.

After he learnt the basic, Castiel would tell a story.

Dean remembered the first story being about a prince who misses his rose so much all he wanted was to go home and see her. Castiel didn't giveaway the ending. He gave Dean a reading assignment instead. "It would hasten your study." He said.

As far as Dean concerned, Castiel was not a human. He said he wasn't a witch either, but Dean was sure there was something extraordinary about him. Some books, for instant, were published thousands years in the future. Castiel said that good books knew no boundary.

Whether it was Dean's intelligence or Castiel's teaching, Dean managed to read and write the main language in three months. Some days, the boys would sit together and discuss a story and its moral.

Time flied, and Dean's world expanded.

* * *

"I think therefore I am. I am therefore I think. I am thinking so I am. I am and I am thinking therefore I am. If I am not thinking therefore I am not. But I am thinking that I am not thinking. Hence I think therefore I am."

Faced down on the book, Dean chanted.

* * *

"Why does the king rule?" Castiel questioned.

"Because he has money?"

"Why does he has money?"

"Because of the tax?"

"Where does the tax come from?"

"It comes from the people."

"Then tell me again why does the king rule?"

"Does he really rule?"

"What do you think he does?"

"He serves."

"That's the idea."

The conversation continued. Though the question remained in the end, Dean had an answer to the kind of king he wanted to be.

* * *

The pile of boxes, in fact, was a pile of games. Castiel introduced Dean to a game on a square board called "Sorry". Dean did not like it. It took too much luck to win the game. Monopoly, as Castiel said, would help him learn the concept of capitalism, investment, and injustice. Dean grunted inside because he found it disturbing that the only stable source of income in the game wasn't enough to barely survive as the game progressed. Scrabble, on the other hand, was the game of resources. At first, Dean always lost for his knowledge of words and language was limited. But as his English advanced more and more, Dean found that he did not need to swallow the whole dictionary. He just had to learn new words from his opponent, and utilized those he already had. The first time he won, Castiel rewarded him by assigning more books to read.

Chess was something else entirely, as well as Go.

They were not a game of chance. They required strategy, sacrifice, and the ability to see ahead of your opponent. Chess said the queen was the strongest, and even the king sometimes had to sacrifice. Go was a war between two armies. In battle, every life was equal, and everyone mattered.

On one torture section, Dean hardly felt a slash of whip on his skin. When he was dumped back into his cell later, he crawled to the room even though the wounds were flesh and burning.

"Knight to E4. Check" Dean struggled in front of Castiel who was waiting besides their unfinished game before he passed out.

He remembered Castiel's particular smug face on that day.

* * *

Dean didn't notice at first, but as years passed, Castiel looked less like a porcelain doll. His skin gained more color. His jaw and chin gave a pale green shade because of his stubble. He smiled more, even laughed to himself sometimes. When did Castiel change the way he dress, Dean did not know. But the black turtleneck (as he called it) was replaced by a simple white shirt, and the jeans were gone. Castiel dressed like one of the Khais now.

A witch or a demon, Dean didn't care anymore.

* * *

"Ughhh." Dean groaned, but he finally finished his essay on the SWOT analysis of the Matra and its neighboring countries. He handed it to Castiel who smiled and said "Good. The next essay is how a religion becomes a political tool.

Dean almost fainted at the assignment.

* * *

Dean never had a chance to learn how to count more than 20. So, he never paid attention to time passed.

Castiel changed that. Dean counted and counted. He learned that 30 days made up a month, and 12 months mean a year.

Every 29 days, they would clean the cell. Well, they were supposed to. But it was just an excuse for bringing prisoner to the torture room just for fun. "Fun" could mean a lot of things. Dean was lucky that Alastair and other guards found him so disgusting that they would not even touch him. The missing nose had it perks.

With no mirror, Dean never knew what his face looked like, but neither did the guard for Dean's real face was buried in hair and beard. Dean did not stay there the longest, but he was the youngest one who got throw in the prison. His body yet to develop into a man. He hardly had any muscle. Rip his clothes out, and you would only see ribs and bones. He was covered in red spots from the bites of those fleas too.

The result? They never did anything to Dean other than whipping him hard. Alastair loved the sound of his scream. The man drunk a lot. So, as it was 'more entertaining', in some session, he would blow the rum on Dean's wound. It was the reason why Dean's voice was hoarser than it should be at a very young age.

Dean was 19 when he noticed how powerless he was against the strength of the guards.

I want to be strong." He said to Castiel who was attending Dean's wound with cottons and clean water.

"Can you teach me how to be strong?" He turned to his mentor, who answer with a glint in his eyes.

"Of course, Dean. The lesson starts tomorrow."

The day after was nothing Dean had expected.

As he pulled the brick of one by one, the first thing he noticed was the smell. The smell of a roasted chicken and wine. The smell of feast.

Curiosity and hunger were a great fuel. Dean rushed himself. At the first glimpse, he knew that the room changed. There was no bookshelves in the room, but a large dining table and a chandelier. Of course, there were a roast turkey on the table too, but sight that rendered him speechless was the woman who was occupying the seat at the end (or the head) of the table.

She was a 'she', Dean thought. But there was no mistake. This woman was Castiel. With the same piecing blue eyes , same dark brown hair (though hers was long, shiny, and curly around her shoulder unlike Castiel's short and ruffled one). She was wearing a midnight-blue gown with silver embroidery around its scoop neck. If Dean did not know before, he would have thought the woman to be an embodiment of stars.

'Castiel' crossed her arms gracefully. "Today, we will study social manners, starting with dining etiquette. Take a seat, Dean."

Her voice was deep and soothing. She gestured the seat next to hers. Dean took it. He blinked, and there was a set of plates and silverware lying in front of him.

Dean had never ever seen that many plates of forks and spoons used in one single meal. There were three forks in three different sizes and they were freaking him out.

"Start from the outside ones." Castiel instructed. Dean looked down again, and there was suddenly a thick cream soup in his bowl. "Surely, you are not planning to use forks with a soup."

Castiel chuckled as Dean put the fork down and took the farthest spoon instead.

The first spoon of soup lit a firework in Dean's stomach in a very good way. Dean hadn't had a decent meal for more than 12 years, plus the taste of the soup was divine.

He forgot the training, cupped the bowl with his hands, and raised it up to his lips.

Then the bowl disappeared.

"Manners, Dean." Castiel warned. She sliced a chicken and carefully forked it into her mouth. She did not even look at Dean when the bowl and the soup suddenly returned to their previous location. Dean was dumbfound. He was hungry, and blood boiling up his face because of humiliation.

"Cas."

"Hmm?"

"I thought you would teach me how to fight."

"I thought I taught you better than that."

"What does this has to do with that?"

Castiel stopped slicing another piece of chicken breast.

"I don't appreciate your tone, Dean."

"I don't have time for THIS!" Dean swept away his wine glasses on the table. They crashed with the wall on the other side. "I need to learn how to fight, not eating like a rabbit."

Castiel put down the silverware and wiped her lips gently with a white napkin. The room got darker and colder in an instant.

"Needless to remind you that I can terminate our agreement by simply leave, Dean. You will die here without my help, and combat skills are not the only thing you need when you make it outside. IF you make it." She paused. "You have two options. One, you will continue this lesson as nicely as you should, and you will have enough energy to attend basic sword skill this afternoon. Two, you can crawl back to your cell and wither. Because I am not here to perch on your shoulder nor do I intend to."

Silence fell between them. Castiel kept her eyes on Dean.

At one point, Dean gave in, and took another spoon of his soup. Although he drank and sucked it loudly too annoy Castiel on purpose.

The mysterious creature seemed content enough. "We'll work on that."

"Why are you a girl, anyway?" Dean asked.

"Because you need to learn how to treat a woman right."

Later that evening, Dean learnt the basic of sword and wrestling. The next day, Castiel allowed him to have a day off in the study room. Dean lied his face on the first edition of "Moby Dick."

….

…..

…

..

_6 years later_

People called him "Ranger Rick", but in reality, Rick was just a barber who had to struggle to feed his wife and his three kids. Today, he didn't open his shop as usual. A friend hired him for a day to work at the Chateau D'lf Prison, famously known as a place to lock up politicians. That friend said not to ask, but it was also widely known that the prison will be destructed soon because the king saw no point of locking up someone and kept feeding them.

All prisoner was to be beheaded. And some of their last request was a shave or a haircut. It would be a long and horrible day, Rick thought as he was led to a narrow corridor.

It turned out to be more gruesome than he thought. Most of the prisoners' hair were tangled, sticky, filthy, and all adjectives combined. Some of them were not even in a right mind, and the shaving was dangerous to both the prisoner and themselves. Rick was tired and wanted to go home.

"The next one is the last." His friend patted his back. Rick would get himself a drink after this gig.

Again, Rick was led to a narrow corridor and high up a spiral stair.

"You'd better be careful this one."

"Why?" Rick panted. He hardly exercised.

"Don't know. The old guard said nothing. Say they've forgotten."

"But?"

"Yeah… 'But' I bet he's a mercenary. Could snap your neck with bare hands, mate."

They finally reached the cell. It looked like other cells. But once they opened the door, Rick stopped for a moment.

The prisoner faced the opposite side of the wall, meditating. He was not very a shirt, and his body was intriguing. Board shoulder. Strong arms. The dip of his muscle. Rick believed that this man could break his neck easily. The only out of place was the messy hair that covered most of the man's back down to his buttock.

One of the guard announced, "Your barber is here."

The man got up slowly. At full height, he was at least half a foot taller than Rick. He stretched his limbs, and there a quiet 'crack' sound.

He said "I need a haircut."

Rick swallowed and prayed for his own survival.


	5. Rebirth

_Previous Night…_

"Lucifer, the man with a rose, is still alive."

"How do you know that?"

Dean looked up from a map of Northern kingdoms he had been studying. Castiel arched his eyebrow as an answer.

"Of course, you would know." Dean resigned.

Eight years could turn boys into men, and strangers to partners or more. It had long passed the point where Dean doubted Castiel's ability. He settled with reality bending, which meant everything, basically.

When they first met, Castiel was more of a doll made of glass. Blue eyes were strangely beadlike, and his skin was close to perfection. Dean believed that if Castiel wanted, the man could stay young forever. He could even stay female if he wished too. However, the Castiel sitting on the desk and kicking his legs at the chair could pass for a normal human.

With Castiel's training, Dean developed muscles, strength, and endurance as well as agility. He was no longer a boy who was half the size of others. When he stood, he towered over the guards easily. His board shoulder helped, it made him look bigger and scarier if he wanted to.

Castiel, on the other hand, changed back and forth from being a man to a woman as he pleased. The man Castiel was lean and toned although slightly shorter than Dean himself. The woman was… breathtaking. Dean had no word to describe her for she was surreal. Castiel was surreal. They could spend an entire night talking about the future and the past. At first, Castiel was the one telling the story. Recently, Dean came up with his great tales too.

There was one time Dean told the story from his imagination, and it went on until almost dawn, Castiel said, "You amaze me, Dean." Before he put the last brick in its place and cut their connection. Dean felt a surge of pride in himself.

Castiel told Dean that their lessons had come to an end. Just when the guards announced that the prison will be closed, and all prisoners could have one last request fulfilled before the execution.

Having no experience to the outside world, Dean only asked for his hair and beard to be cut. He wanted to be able to memorize his own face if only by touch.

Dean had told Castiel about the evening his family was murdered. Castiel said nothing but that he already knew, and it was the first reason he came here.

However, this night was the first time Castiel shared the knowledge about the man.

"Is my mission to kill him?" Dean asked.

"Your mission is you to live whichever way you want." Castiel answered.

"Too bad I'll be dead tomorrow. They did schedule someone to 'groom' me in the morning." Dean walked across the room to his friend. "Then I'll walk the green miles before the evening."

"If you choose."

"I don't have another option."

"I have already given it to you."

Dean shortened their distance and put his hand of Castiel's knee. "You think I could do it?"

"I know you could."

Dean nodded as he stepped back, preparing to bid his friend goodnight.

Then, Castiel grabbed his wrist.

"Dean."

The blue eyes stared right through him, as it had always done. But this time, it was different. There were urgency and pride and loyalty mixed in his voice. With just one syllable, Castiel nailed Dean to him.

"Consider this..." He raised his palm and put it on Dean's scar in the center of his face. "…your graduation gift."

The palm burnt hot on Dean's skin, but it was painless, and Dean woke up to the last day of his life in the cell.

* * *

_Present…_

_"Who's that?" "Do we have that man in our prison?" "What did he do?"_ _("I don't know. Snatching someone's wife") "Since when do we have him here?"_

As soon as Dean stepped out to the sunlight of the execution site, sounds dried, but gossip started.

Dean still had no clue how he looked. He must be hideous. There was no other explanation for the look on the guards' faces. Dean did not care. He would love to be hideous if it scared his enemy. Dean's hands were tied in the back. Two guards put their hands on Dean's shoulders as they walked him to the line of other prisoners kneeling in front of their executioner. There were already 8 men waiting to be beheaded. They forced Dean on his knees once he reached his pose. Alastair grinned from afar.

Usually, the execution would be done in front of a crowd to enforce law and fear of punishment. This case was special as it was a mass execution and the king wanted it to be done as quickly and quietly as possible. Apart from the guards, there were 20-30 soldiers in the square, some were on horses, and others were on feet. The warden and nobles were watching from a balcony above. The big iron gate was the only way out, and it opened wide.

A priest blessed each prisoner one by one, and Dean was the last in the line.

"Wait. There's another one." One guard shouted.

The last prisoner walking toward the line was Castiel.

The same murmuring happened again. To be fair, Castiel made a very skeptical prisoner. He was too clean, and in Dean's opinion, too beautiful.

They made eye contact, and Dean heard Castiel's voice in his head.

_It's up to you now._

_I know._

The priest blessed Castiel. The ceremony was over. It was time for the real deal.

The chief executioner sent a signal for others to raise their axe and prepared for the strike.

Dean turned to look at Castiel who glanced at Dean's hand on his back in return. The knot was loosened. Dean nodded.

The right moment would come and it would be just a split second.

His hand felt cold despite the sweat. His throat was dry.

_Are you afraid, Dean?_

_No shit, Sherlock._

_I find it amusing that you are acquainted to a literature ahead of your time._

_We're about to lose our heads and you want to discuss that?_

_Time is irrelevant. _

_You take that guy over there. I'll take that one_

_Understood._

_Will we make it?_

_Depends._

_On what?_

_On whether you are afraid or not._

_What if I am._

_Then we will make it, Dean. _

At the second the horn was blown to signal the strike, Dean swept his legs behind, unbalancing his executioner, quickly twisted his arms, forcing the axe to fell, and took it in his own hand. He quickly raised it up for the impact when the first soldier struck his sword. Castiel, on the other hand, managed to block three arrows shot at him, and stole a sword from an unconscious guard at his feet. He cut the head of the soldier who had an upper hand on Dean.

The nearest executioner threw his axe at them. Wrong move. Dean and Castiel dodged it easily, and the latter knocked the thrower out with the handle of the weapon is his hand. They set the nearest prisoner free. Good luck for them. The man clearly knew how to fight.

The three of them formed a small but strong formation, blocking attacks and freeing other prisoners one by one. The soldiers were shouting orders, but anyone who approached them would get at least a hard nap as a gift in return. The last man, older than the rest, finally broke free.

"THE HORSE." Dean shouted. All of them understood.

To survive against 30 soldiers, they must work together.

A knight on a horse charged at them. The old man yelled "BREAK!", then the group break into two, allowing the horse to pass without damage. But not so fast, Dean grabbed the rein and swung himself on its back and threw the knight down.

The prisoners roared, but their battle wasn't over yet.

Dean rushed his horse along sides another horse. He just put the rider off balance and pushed him and the horse was ready for a new rider, Castiel.

Together, they moved like a storm. Dean snatched a bow and an arrow from a clumsy knight. Castiel sent a signal and Dean took three arrows in his fingers at once. He aimed, held a breath, and shot right at three knights who were surrounding other prisoners.

The knight fell like leaves. The prisoners helped themselves up the horse.

"RIDE!" Dean shouted and all of them head toward the exit.

Unfortunately, the enemy was closing the gate, and none of the prisoners would make it.

_CAS!_

_Faster, Dean!_

When all hope seemed to vanish as the exit became smaller and smaller, time slowed down.

Castiel blew into his palm, and his breath created a gust of wind.

Time flew as normal again. Nobody but Castiel knew where the wind came from, but right there at the center of the square was a hurricane ready for destruction.

Everyone screamed in horror. "OUT OUT!" The knight shouted and everyone rushed to get through the gate. No one cared about the prisoners anymore.

Dean kept riding on long after he had passed the four walls of the square. He commanded nobody to follow him, but they did. Once they made it into the golden field of the High Land, one of the prisoners broke out into a wild cheer. He shouted and prayed and thanked his god. Some sang and laughed along with him. Dean glanced back at Castiel who was trailing behind close.

_We've made it._

_You've made it, Dean._

_We've made it!_

Dean's smiled was brighter that the view of the sunset.

"Congratulations, Dean" Castiel said. Pride and intimacy were obvious in his voice.

"I'VE MADE IT." Dean shouted, raising his two arms above his head. "WHOOOO!"

Dean hardly cared about the direction he was heading. You can't blame him, my dear readers. It was the first time in 19 years he was finally home

**End of Part I. Please stay tune for Interlude(s) and Part II **

**Your comment will determine the ending of this story. **


	6. Break I: The Singers

The king hunted people of two races, the Khai and the Sie. Robert 'Bobby' was neither.

You could say that Bobby was a respectable man. Oh yes, he was. He and hi wife, Karen, ran a tavern called Singer's Yard in the capital of Matra. Regular customers loved the place, and travelers heard of it. They heard about the Singers' hospitality and generosity, about how the Singers were wiling to help people in need regardless of races.

Bobby gave all credit to his wife. Although he saw nothing wrong with helping other people, it was Karen who embraced them first. And Bobby would do everything his wife saw right.

No one had ever stayed more than a night. Most refugees knew that they brought troubles with them so, they usually left in the morning.

Still, one night was enough to brand them a traitor of the kingdom.

It happened while Bobby was bargaining for new season's products. They were fine grapes and cheese. Karen would love it, he thought.

It was two corners to go until he reaches home when someone was yelling "They caught a Sie. Hanging now!"

Everyone rushed to the main square. There was a permanent rising platform in the middle, and a bar with a noose hanging. It was always there just for convenience, and for intimidating purpose.

Bobby did not follow the crowd in that instant. Instead, he went home as usual because his cart was full of grapes and cheese. Those things needed to be stored first.

What he did not expect to see was an abandoned tavern.

There was no sign of fighting. But there was no one either. Bobby called out for Karen. All returned was silence. It was strange. Karen did not like the hanging. She had never watched it even though the whole city would show up at the square.

Something was terribly wrong.

His heart flew faster than his feet. Bobby ran to the square, only to be blocked by a massive crowd gathering. A Sie family - a man, a woman, and two kids no older than 13 years old will be hung today along with the person who helped them.

Karen Singer.

Bobby yelled her name at the top of his lung. No one heard it but a few people who surrounding him. "No." He shouted as he shoved people out of the way to the platform. It was only a few people away to the front when a someone coming from behind and covered Bobby's mouth with his hand.

"Bobby, no."

The man and the other one gripped Bobby tight and dragged him away from the center. Bobby tried to shake them away. But the man warned "She is saving you, Bobby!"

How in the world was it saving? Tears were stirring in his eyes when the executioner signaled and everyone turned silent. Karen was standing in the middle of the platform.

Before everything happened next, her eyes found Bobby, and she smiled at him. For him.

Then the trapped door beneath her opened, and she fell. Bobby could almost hear the sound of her neck breaking.

Bobby screamed.

* * *

He was told later that the authority knew about the refugee and the tavern. They had come to the tavern and arrested Karen in the afternoon. There was no trial. Karen confessed everything, saying that her husband had nothing to do with the act of treason.

She took all the fault and saved Bobby's life.

There was only one road to go from there.

Bobby decided to honor Karen and adopted her concern for other people.

He started a rebellion group.

The Singer tavern no longer accepted everyone. Any refugee seeking shelter will be denied an accommodation and food. But it was only in the front.

In the back, Bobby ran a network to the rebellion group, feeding them information and supporting them financially on many occasion. Everyone who sought refuges at the Singer's would be given shelter and help they needed. Just not at the tavern.

No blood would be unnecessarily spilled in the future, he set his mind.

* * *

Unfortunately, the rebel group was attacked on the same day Bobby visited them.

They were not just regular citizen. Some of the non-warrior was sent to a prison used for locking up prisoners of politic. Bobby was one of them.

He was already old, and would not expect himself to live through the torture in a cold rat hole cell for many years. Bobby needs to escape. He just did not know how.

It had been only three weeks since he came here before they announced the termination of this prison.

Bobby's last request was simple. He said to the blue eyed knight who said he represented the authority to make sure every request would be fulfilled.

Bobby never thought that his wish would be real. Because he asked to be executed along side other rebellions who got caught with him.

He entered the execution site first, and was surprised to see others who followed - Five rebellions who was not a warrior but could hold their own in a fight, a man who, by his look, was a hunter from South, and Rufus? Bobby has no idea the old guy was here.

It was a sign that he would not die here.

A blond haired man walked in as the last one. Bobby's heart grew because the man was every bit of a warrior. It's in the way he walked and the spark in his eyes that told Bobby _this was not the day to die_.

Then the last one stepped into the site. It was the blue-eyed knight who claimed himself as the authority. They made eye contact in a split second and Bobby was ready.

He was ready to break free.


	7. Break II: Alastair

_Where am I?_

_Ahh... My own bed. Feel like I was hit by a horse. Those friggin' prisoners. Hope they'll catch them all and I'll slice their throat myself._

_Speaking of throat, I need to get up. The old hag will nag._

...

_Get up. _

...

_Argh. Bloody hell. Get the fuck up._

...

_I can't get up? What the fuck?_

_Lizzie, come here._

...

_No voice? Lizzi.. oh, there you are!_

_Help me get up, Liz._

_Geez, woman. You don't need to open the window. Help you husband first_

_Don't just stand there. Your hands! Are they really good for NOTHING!_

_What's that smile, HAG?_

_Come here and help me get up!_

_Bloody hell I'm hungry. Get me something to eat, wouldn't you!?_

_Why are you laughing?_

_I'll smack your head to the ground once I can get out of this fucking bed!_

_Lizzie come here._

_DON'T WALK OUT THAT DOOR._

_LIZZIE. _

_LIZ_

...

...

...

_What happened? _

_Why can't I speak?_

_Why can't I move?_

_Goddamnit. _

_Can someone just tell me WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?_

...

...

_I remember._

_I was at the execution. The bloody riot. That friggin' storm._

_I was... I fell. _

_Those fucking guards left me. They stomped on me when they saw the hurricane._

_I got up. I tried to escape. _

_But something cut me in the back. I don't know what it was. I fell to the ground._

_There was a lot of blood. _

_Then everything went black. _

_Strange. I don't even feel pain. _

* * *

_Liz?_

_Oh please, not that bloody gluey soup again._

_I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I HATE IT._

_Careful. I said CAREFUL. _

_You useless cunt. You can't do a damn thing. _

...

...

...

Clean me.

_Clean me, Liz. _

_I'm lying own my own shit and you come here right now and clean me._

_LIZ. _

_LIZ, Please._

* * *

_You forgot to feed me yesterday, Liz._

_Please._

_Thank you._

...

...

_Clean clothes and sheet at last._

_Thank you, Liz._

_I'm sorry for calling you a hag._

_Liz, don't go._

_Stay with me. _

_Please._

_Liz_

* * *

"Hello"

_Hello_

"I see you're still there."

_You look familiar. Who are you?_

"We've met from afar, and I have many names."

_You can hear me?_

"Don't ask stupid question."

_What are you?_

...

"I don't think you really want to know about that."

_Then, what happened to me?_

"Simple. Your spinal cord is damaged. You are now paralyzed. You cannot move. You cannot speak. But I guess you know that already."

_Am I going to stay like this for the rest of my life?_

"Yes."

...

...

_Do you come here to kill me?_

"I am not your killer, Alastair. Nor am I a reaper."

_Then why are YOU here when you cannot do a bloody damn thing!?_

"Human. Always asking for something when they do absolutely nothing. In your case, it's literal."

_WHY ARE YOU HERE!?_

"Elizabeth, your wife."

...

_What about her?_

"She needs you stay alive."

"Your condition is not her concern. All she needs is your pension."

_My pension?_

"Yes. Your Liz will keep you alive to feed herself. You will not die soon, Alastair."

_Just kill me. Kill me please._

"Shhh... You will outlive her, only for a short period, if there's any consolation."

_Please._

_Please kill me._

_I'd rather be dead than staying like this._

"Don't you see?"

_what?_

"This is the purpose."

_What do you mean?_

"Hell, Alastair. Hell."

_Hell..._

"Some human doesn't understand that death is not the worst thing that could happen in life, ironically."

_Kill me please._

"No. You must live. You will stay in your bed like this. In your own waste. Unable to mutter a word, or to lift a finger."

_Why are you telling me this?_

"Because I want you to suffer."

You devil.

"I've been called that too. I'm not, though."

_YOU FRIGGIN' BLOODY DEVIL._

"I don't have a reason to remain here anymore. I bid you farewell, Alastair."


End file.
